


Broken Laces

by maurquez



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 04:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16803286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maurquez/pseuds/maurquez
Summary: are we nothingbut the partsof our broken laces?





	1. Liquor Boy

once upon a time, a girl told me to never fall in love with a boy made of liquor.

she said his name intoxicated her from the moment it hit her tongue, that it tasted like sweetener and missed regrets.

that he'd clutched onto her waist for hours on end, giggling and talking and dancing until her cheeks grew tired and her legs went numb,

that he'd taken her to the sun and her world exploded into a million shades of light.

a girl told me to not go weak for the beautiful stranger with the closed-off heart,

to never let him drink-and-drink-and-drink-and-drink your soul 'til there's nothing more to take,

tear you into pieces like scrap paper with only a half-witted apology,

and leave only the memory of softer-than-soft lips for the hangover in the morning.

she kept saying, _don't break into pieces for a price. don't destroy yourself forever for a night._

and i'd never snuck out to run away with a leather-wearing stud who's breath whispered trouble,

never gone out past midnight and smudged firetruck coloured lipstick across an unknown's cheek,

never felt flames flicker down my throat as i hastily chugged from a half-empty flask.

but i'd heard the shattered voice of a lovely, lovely child with a broken, broken heart

and that was enough.

+++

but once upon a time, a boy told me his words would never come with a rusty burnt tongue,

that he could love the sun from afar without setting his angel-white wings aflame,

that he thought my brain was a whirlpool and my eyes were constellations inside of a galaxy,

and that he could pick out every hue on the planet from the contents of my heart.

a boy that will never grab my hand and race a mile-a-minute, never light a match and blow it out within a second.

now my fingers brush against the scarred hand of the misfit kid who sewed himself together,

who's mind is made of magic and who's heart is made of gold.

oh, that boy, that boy with the glint in his eyes;

he's the colour in a masterpiece, the symphony in a voice, the ordinary in the extraordinary.

a girl says she taught me well when i mutter that i don't need to chase a flame,

that i'm all too happy smiling up at my gentle sky full of stars. 


	2. Saggy Skin And Rotten Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ugly stories aren't worthwhile.

it's not fair.

i grit my teeth and clench my jaw, for what more can i say?

because i want to spit out words a mile a minute,

challenging, arguing, _composing_ at the speed of light,

quicker, faster than my tongue can tie itself down

and doze off against the roof of my mouth.

the whisper of my name should conjure images

of my wit and my words and my smarts and my _soul_

everything, everything that isn't _chubby hips_ or _broken nails_ or _unbrushed hair_ -

fixated on the weird, gross, _ugly_ , way that my mouth moves

rather than the sheer symphony that whizzes out of it.

they say to be brilliant, bold, _breathtaking;_

but, no, i am none of these things, i can't be, because i'm hands-eyes-mouth-teeth-body,

a freshly made-up barbie doll in a plastic cage; non-moving, non-eating, non-sleeping, non-breathing,

just smile-smile-smiling until my jaw aches and my cheeks bruise and my heart stops beating all together; 

_god_ , i am sick of _beauty over brains,_ of _body over mind,_

aspiring to _attract, attract, attract_ rather than to _achieve,_

in societies where rapid-fire, mile-a-minute thoughts and constantly-moving brains

don't mean a _thing_ without doe eyes, without fairy tale smiles to soften the edges of your message,

where a woman's story is only worthy if it is _palatable,_ if it is _agreeable,_ if it's got all the spunk and soul yanked out of it,

if it's operated, bound, starved, operated, bound, starved, operated, bound, starved

until all that remains is a pretty little pile of saggy skin and rotten bones.


End file.
